A RACE FOR LIFE. 



OW cold the wind feels ! — sweeping over the lonely, prairie, that lies wrapped 

 in its spotless mantle, for during the past night a fierce storm of snow 

 has covered all the plain, making the rolling, undulating soil appear like 

 suddenly-congealed billows. The vast — seemingly endless — expanse stretches away 

 for many a mile, until it is lost in the farrdistant horizon. The short, green turf, 

 which during the pleasant months of spring is richly enamelled with gaily-coloured 

 flowers, is hidden now by the pure, new-fallen snow. Beautiful to look upon 

 is the prairie as it lies there in its white dress, glittering in the bright beams of 

 the wintry sun, and flashing back, in myriads of brilliant scintillations, the rays 

 that dance upon its unsullied surface. Yet attractive as it may be to the sight, 

 its icy-robe brings pain and suffering, aye even death, to many a dweller of the 

 boundless plains, by hiding away the food in the shape of the stunted grass, or 

 else by means of the biting wind that accompanies the storm, killing the few 

 remaining sprouts upon the scattered trees, and freezing up the brooks and streams. 

 Still it is indeed an " ill wind that blows nobody good," and at such a time as this 

 the propitious moment arrives for certain beasts to sally forth in quest of spoil, for 

 such is certain to be found, and it will be taken from the weaker ones who are 

 incapable of successful defence, even as in the higher ranks there are always 

 those to be met with who thrive upon the fate of the unfortunate. 



If we cast our eyes, even now, over yon hillock, a skulking creature may 



